The Precipice

by Penny Goetjen

  “Sure thing.” He pulled the ball cart around to join her on the other side of the net. Elizabeth was surprised at how few balls were left in the basket. It was completely full when they started. No wonder she felt like she’d already had a work-out.

  After showing him her version of a tennis serve, he gave her a few pointers to refine it. “Bend your knees. Toss the ball up over your head, but a little in front of you, because you want to be moving forward when you make contact with the ball.” At first she felt awkward trying to apply his suggestions to her technique, but slowly she felt more comfortable as she served her way through the rest of the balls in the basket. She needed to get him talking.

  “Terrific. You certainly are a quick study. Alright, let’s get these balls picked up and we’ll play a bit so you can apply everything you just learned.” A sideways grin spread across his face as he walked toward the outer fence near the gate. He retrieved two ball tubes hanging from the chain-link fence surrounding the courts and handed one to her. They headed for the net to gather the balls that had collected there. Elizabeth was going to ignore the sheer number of them and the fact that they were clear evidence of her inconsistent effort to clear the net, whether volleying, ground stroking or serving.

  “So, Kurt, what do you make of what’s been going on around here?” trying to leave the question as open as possible.

  Kurt very calmly stopped trapping balls with his tube and shot her a sideways glance as if trying to determine her intentions. She hoped she didn’t sound as obvious as she felt. He resumed gathering balls. “Do you mean the situation with the lost girl?”

  “Yes…and everything else that might be going on.” Ugh! That sounded lame. She was not very good at this game.

  “Well, I’m not really privy to a lot of what goes on around here.”

  Are you serious? Do you really expect me to believe that?

  “Last time I spoke to Chief Austin, which was this morning when we saw you on the path to the lighthouse, he had few leads to go on. He did find a zippered sweatshirt down on the rocks that actually turned out to be the missing girl’s.

  “Really?”

  “Yes. Her family thinks she wandered off and fell prey to foul play. Chief is not so sure about that. He did share with me that the parents admitted their daughter had really fought with them about accompanying them on this trip. It was supposed to be one last weekend away before she started school. But she’s fourteen or fifteen and you remember how it can be at that age. The last place you want to be is with your parents, especially on a vacation.”

  “But he is gathering evidence and seriously considering other, more serious possibilities, isn’t he?”

  “Oh, I’m sure he is. He seems to have a handle on this.”

  Elizabeth tended not to agree, but she kept her opinion to herself for the time being.

  “So, is there anything else I should know about?” It was worth another shot at eliciting more information from him.

  Kurt chuckled as he emptied his tube of yellow tennis balls into the basket. “What else could be going on? Isn’t that enough for this quiet little inn?”

  She had to agree that it was. Unfortunately it wasn’t all. Was he really oblivious to everything else or did he know more than he was sharing?

  “Of course,” she answered, at bit disappointed.

  “Alright, let’s play a little.” He grabbed three balls from the cart, handed her two, jogged over to the other side of the net. “Okay, you serve first.” And so began a set that went on for twenty-five minutes and ended with a score of 6-1. Elizabeth was convinced the single game she won was a token of sportsmanship. He couldn’t beat a lady in a shut-out. At least it seemed like the guy was a gentleman.

  She approached the net with her arm extended. They shook hands, but he looked surprised. “You don’t want to play another set?”

  “No. I think I’ve had enough of a workout.” She wiped the perspiration from her forehead with the back of her hand. “I need to save enough energy to be able to function during the rest of the day.” Kurt chuckled. “But thank you, though. That was a lot of fun. I learned a lot, too.” She handed her racquet back to him.

  “Elizabeth, you were being too modest. You were great! We’ll have to play again before you leave.” He had that little twinkle in his eyes again. She turned away to break the connection between their eyes. She couldn’t think of a comeback that wouldn’t sound like she was getting sucked in. Suddenly, she felt his hand firmly grasping her upper right arm. Her left foot froze in mid-air and mid-step, a couple inches off the surface of the tennis court. Slowly she turned back toward him. He stepped closer and looked deeply into her eyes. “Be careful, Elizabeth. You don’t know what you will be sticking your nose into around here...just be careful.”

  He slowly released his grip and she resisted the urged to rub her arm to restart the circulation. Taking one step backwards away from him, she didn’t take her eyes off of his, “I’ll see what I can do,” she said in an even, unemotional tone, that took everything she had to keep it under control. She turned away again and walked briskly toward the gate, this time unencumbered.

  What was that supposed to mean? Was that a warning or a threat? She really couldn’t tell, so she would consider it the latter until she could be sure. He made her feel so uncomfortable. A shiver ran down her spine.

  As she headed back to the inn, hunger pangs gradually replaced the nerves affecting her stomach during tennis. After a quick shower, she would have to stop in the kitchen to see if Tony had anything for her to eat. It was already the middle of the afternoon, so he would be working on dinner, but she should be able to grab a quick bite.

  Chapter 7

  Elizabeth emerged from the small bathroom, after a refreshing shower, with a fluffy white towel wrapped around her torso. Holding it all together with her left hand at the base of her neck, she reached with her other hand for the clothes she had selected to wear and tossed onto the bed. She froze. Out of the corner of her eye she noticed someone was standing by the door. Elizabeth gasped and retreated back toward the bathroom. She looked at the woman and thought she was the elderly lady she had observed in the lobby when she first arrived. She opened her mouth to speak, and then closed it again. Suddenly, it dawned on her that it was her great aunt. What is she doing here, in my room…in her room? I knew I shouldn’t stay in this room. What was Nana thinking? Elizabeth opened her mouth again but before she could make a sound, Cecelia was already talking. “Elizabeth, you have to save the inn,” her voice barely a whisper.

  “I’ll…I’ll do everything I can,” scarcely believing they were having a civil conversation. During Elizabeth’s formative years, Cecelia only yelled at her.

  “You must. Amelia has all but given in and walked away. This place has been in the family for too long to let it go like this.” Her tone was one of desperation. She was imploring Elizabeth to do everything in her power to rescue the inn from the hands of…God only knew. The two women stood facing each other from across the room. No more words were spoken. They seemed to be reconnecting what time had pulled apart. The moment was shattered by the piercing ring of her cell phone. The sound brought Elizabeth’s thoughts back to the present. She could guess who was calling. She turned and took a step forward toward the bed, bending slightly to rummage through the clothes to find her phone buried beneath them. One glance at the caller ID on the cover confirmed her apprehension. She felt a sinking feeling creep into her stomach. Absentmindedly, she placed her hand on her abdomen. The number was none other than Vera’s. Leaving the phone on the bed where she had uncovered it, she didn’t bother to flip it open to answer the call. Better to let her leave a message and Elizabeth would call back later when she had something for her. After a heavy sigh, she turned her attention back to Cecelia, but she was gone. In all the anxiety over Vera’s call, she didn’t even notice her slip out.<
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  Elizabeth quickly dressed in a pair of light khaki twill capris and a white polo with feminine capped sleeves. She put the sneakers she had used for tennis back on. They were not hers, but they were much more practical for…well, just more practical.

  After tossing Rashelle’s tennis clothes into the bathroom sink to soak, Elizabeth headed out the door with drawing supplies in hand and a rumbling in her stomach. She was practically skipping down the carpeted hall. Had she looked back, she would have seen her great aunt at the other end of the hall, watching her scamper.

  At the bottom of the stairs that led to the lobby, one of the regular guests of the inn spotted Elizabeth and made a point of connecting with her. Mrs. Leibowitz was a feisty little old lady who had been staying at the inn every summer for many years. What she lacked in stature, she more than made up in spunk. The frosty, white hair framing her face was soft and wavy on good days and puffed out and frizzy on bad days. Her nose was large for her face, rather angular—resembling a hawk’s beak. Her dark eyes penetrated through black, rectangular framed glasses that may have been in style twenty years earlier. She was known for enjoying her wine. She preferred a nice dry red, but would drink a glass of cognac if someone handed it to her. The funny thing was that the alcohol didn’t seem to take the edge off of her crass disposition. Being a long-standing, regular guest at the Pennington Point Inn, she tended to throw her weight around, making demands of Amelia and her staff. Elizabeth rued the day that Mrs. L figured out she was Amelia’s granddaughter. There was no slipping past her without getting an earful about something. To top it off, she had a grating voice to match her personality.

  Mrs. Leibowitz’ lips were pursed and her arms were swinging alternately at her side, hands clenched into fists as she strode up to the first Pennington she could find. “ELIZABETH!” The sound of her name spoken by Mrs. L. was like fingernails on a chalkboard. It sent a chill down her spine. “Elizabeth! What the hell is going on around here?!” Elizabeth wondered if she kissed her grandchildren with that mouth. Was she always this abrasive? “There are cops everywhere! Crawling all over the place, sticking their noses into everybody’s business, asking a lot of questions.” She was indignant. “You know how many years I’ve been coming here?” Elizabeth didn’t know exactly and really didn’t care. She just wished she would stop talking and go away. “I didn’t come back again this summer to be interrogated like some common criminal. This is absolutely ridiculous! Why would I ever come back again?” Her voice was getting louder with each sentence. “What are you going to do about this?” She was wagging her crooked old index finger in Elizabeth’s face, a little too close for comfort.

  Mrs. L. paused long enough for Elizabeth to jump in. She tried to make her voice sound compassionate. This was going to take some serious acting, but she had to be careful not to be patronizing. “Mrs. Leibowitz, I realize how much of an inconvenience this is for you, and everyone at the Pennington Point Inn empathizes with your situation. We really do. And we are confident that if everyone cooperates with the officers conducting the investigation, they will be able to wrap up very quickly and we can all go back to what we would rather be doing. Please be patient. I’m sure this will all be over very soon. Thank you for being so understanding.” She was running out of breath, but she didn’t slow down until she started walking away from her. “Why don’t I have someone from our wait staff bring up a nice bottle of Chianti to ease your discomfort? Would that be alright?” Mrs. L. opened her mouth to speak, but Elizabeth beat her to it. “Let me go take care of that right now.” She turned and walked briskly, with a purpose, toward the kitchen, leaving Mrs. L. standing alone in the middle of the lobby with her mouth half open. She looked like she wasn’t quite sure what had just happened. A quiet “thank you” was all she could muster in Elizabeth’s direction. Elizabeth shivered ever so slightly, trying to shake off their encounter.

  Chapter 8

  As expected, Tony and all of his staff were bustling about the kitchen in preparation for the evening’s dinner, a clambake on the beach. She watched for a while as Tony skillfully chopped several vegetables as quickly as she had ever seen a hand, with a knife in it, move. The movement was mesmerizing. He looked up to see her watching him. He paused and chuckled. “Elizabeth, check out my new knife.” Tony held out his latest gadget for her to see more closely. “Believe it or not, the blade is made of ceramic, but it is incredibly sharp. I don’t think I’ve ever worked with anything sharper.” Quite a testimonial considering how long Tony had been a chef. He demonstrated its sharpness on a nearby tomato. He sliced it in half with very little effort, using only one hand. Elizabeth was impressed. Of course, she wasn’t much of a cook, but she had tried to slice tomatoes before and usually struggled to get consistently sized slices. She usually ended up with a mushy mess when she finished. She probably could use a decent knife to do a better job. Elizabeth looked up from Tony’s neat line of tomato slices to look directly into his face. She blinked when she saw his expression. He was enjoying his new gadget far too much. His eyes had a strange, sinister look. Tony put down his tool. “What can I do for you, Lizzi?” He always had a moment for Elizabeth. Upon hearing that she needed a little something for a late lunch, he skillfully pulled together a lobster wrap, to Elizabeth’s delight, accompanied by a fresh fruit salad, including some of Maine’s wild blueberries, and a sparkling water. She was thrilled. Tony’s lobster roll was the best she had ever tasted. Of course, it should not be confused with lobster salad roll that has mayonnaise in it, possibly even small pieces of diced celery. True New England lobster roll was simply generously sized chunks of lobster slathered in butter and nestled in a soft, fresh hot dog roll, slit along the top. Tony probably added a special ingredient or two. She could travel up and down the rocky coast of Maine and not find better lobster roll. Elizabeth preferred hers in a wrap.

  With her boxed lunch in hand, she headed out through the lobby, giving a nod to Rashelle, who was busy with guests at the front desk. They appeared to be husband and wife with two little girls in tow. The man was not very tall, a bit dumpy with drooping shoulders, brown, curly hair. The wife seemed like a church mouse, with straight, shoulder-length, brown hair, parted in the middle. The girls looked to be less than five years old and very close in age with brown curly hair, like their father’s, that bounced softly on their shoulders with just the slightest movement. The younger one turned to see who was crossing the lobby. Elizabeth looked back as she reached the door, catching her eye. Elizabeth smiled gently. In a strange way, the younger girl reminded her of herself.

  Picking up a folding chair from the front porch and tucking it under her arm, Elizabeth headed down the broad front steps, across the circular drive in front of the inn. She noted that her car was still parked at the top of the curve, and she would have to try to remember to move it later. It was time to get some ideas down on paper and get Vera off her back.

  As Elizabeth set off across the front lawn toward the path in the woods toward the lighthouse, Tony was sending a staff person to deliver a bottle of red to Mrs. Leibowitz. Elizabeth noticed a couple of guys from the kitchen staff were headed across the front lawn to the left of her, toward the stairs to the beach. The beach side of the peninsula was accessed via a set of wooden stairs that were installed years ago. The steps washed out from time to time, usually during the occasional hurricane, and required constant maintenance. They were configured so that you descend about a dozen or so steps, reach a landing, turn and descend another dozen steps in the opposite direction, and repeat this pattern several times before you reach the sandy beach below. As long as you didn’t look down in the process, it wasn’t too scary.

  On nights of a barbecue or a clambake on the beach, Tony and his staff went the extra effort to transport everything necessary for dinner from the kitchen down to the beach. Sometime during the summer, someone rigged a primitive pulley system to send down as much as possible, everything that will fit
in a wooden box measuring three feet by four feet. The rest was carried by hand down the stairs. Since it is so labor intensive, only a couple of beach barbecues were planned per month. The guests really seemed to enjoy them, though. Tony and his staff dug a pit in the sand and roasted corn on the cob still in the husks and steamed native Maine lobsters over coals. He rounded out the meal with coleslaw, homemade rolls, and scrumptious pies made with Maine raspberries or blueberries depending upon which berry was in season at the time. Tonight’s pie would be raspberry. Some of the raspberries were from Nana’s garden and the rest were from a local farmer who delivered to the inn on a regular basis. Elizabeth loved raspberry pie. It reminded her of when she was little and her grandmother would send her out to the garden to pick some berries. Little Lizzi usually ate more than she brought back to the inn, but her grandmother never seemed to mind.

  Grown-up Elizabeth needed to get focused and head for a quiet place to get some work done. She reached the path that led to the lighthouse and headed down it, as she had done so many times before. On the way through the woods she could hear rustling sounds. She kept her eyes forward trying desperately to ignore what was happening deeper in the woods. She kept telling herself it was just squirrels playing. Nothing more. She covered the half mile distance to the bluff very quickly. Once there, she plunked down her drawing supplies and her lunch, freeing up her hands to unfold the old fashioned lawn chair that was woven with faded yellow and white fraying strips of vinyl. A throwback to the seventies when yellow was the happy color. She situated herself facing the railing, looking out to sea. She was anxious to get some ideas down on paper so she let her lunch lay untouched in favor of the drawing pad. Vera often scoffed at her use of paper and pencil, calling it an archaic practice in the modern world of technology. Elizabeth, however, felt a certain sense of control with a pencil in her hand and found her creative juices flowed more easily. So she often plodded right along using her old fashioned equipment, in spite of her boss’s objection. It was hard for Vera to criticize too loudly when she saw the design creations Elizabeth produced.